A horrific accident.
An experimental detention center.
A chance at redemption.
What happens when you want to reinvent yourself
but your past keeps getting in the way?
from my scuzzy hair down to my stinky socks.
The only t-shirt I own hangs off my body.
It's a disgusting, slimy skin
that I can't wait to shed.
I wonder what kind of uniform
they'll give me at J-ROT
(that's what my probation officer called where I'm going: Juvenile-Rehab-something-or-other).
Maybe they'll give me a jumpsuit,
and I'll look like a giant orange.
Or maybe gym clothes. I hope they have size XXL.
Out the window of the Corrections van,
Florida rolls by, steamy and soggy,
like a pot of something foul
that's been cooking way too long.
We're heading north,
and I remember a year ago, coming south...